The cell door clanged shut with a heavy finality, sealing Eva into the suffocating darkness of the Conglomerate’s fetid bowels. The cold concrete floor felt like ice beneath her bare feet, sending shivers up her bruised legs. She slumped against the wall, every inch of her body aching. Her wrists throbbed where the restraints had bitten into her skin, but the pain felt distant—muted compared to the hollow pit of fear and despair that gnawed at her from within. Sofia was pretty much the only force holding her innards together.
Her mind was spinning. The interrogator’s words echoed in her head, cruel and cutting, each one stripping away another layer of her defenses. “You’ll make the right choice, Ms. Volkov. For the sake of your survival.” And he was right, if she didn’t, well, she would be the only one to lose. They would use her anyway. She was a puppet and their hand was already up her artificially rounded ass.
Survival. That’s “all” they were offering her. A twisted, poisoned lifeline that would bind her forever to the Conglomerate. But what choice did she have? Submit, bend to their will, and become their dirty sock puppet forever, or resist and be erased—wiped from existence like a smudge on a touchscreen.
Eva leaned her head back against the cold wall, closing her eyes. The flickering overhead light buzzed in and out, casting erratic shadows across the room. She could hear Sofia’s voice in her head, the real voice beneath the persona, the one she had buried so deep over the years. Probably the one she needed the most now, as all other help would be as intangible as hers.
“Don’t give in, Eva. You know this is wrong.”
But what was right? What did right even mean in a world where truth was manipulated, where the system bent and twisted reality to suit its needs? Everything felt unreal. Every decision felt meaningless. The Conglomerate had taken everything—her money, her homes, her carefully crafted empire. They had even taken her identity. What was left?
She pressed her palms to her face, trying to block out the noise in her head. The interrogator had shown her just how fragile her position was, how easily it could all be stripped away. She was thinking in circles. Crawling in circles. A down spiral fueled by reality. But the worst part wasn’t losing the wealth or the luxury. It wasn’t even the humiliation of being used as a tool. It was the realization that she had built her life on nothing. That hurt deeply. She was not a winner. Her persona—Eva Volkov—had never been real. It had always been a facade, a mask that shielded her from the ugliness of the world. Now, that mask had cracked, and Sofia—the woman she truly was—was exposed, raw and vulnerable.
A sudden noise snapped her back to the present. The cell door opened again, and a new figure stepped in—Marcus? Fuckin lovely Marcus! She could kiss him right there. However, his familiar face, sharp and calculating, was twisted into something she had never seen before: fear.
He paused by the door, eyes scanning the small, cramped space, as if he was expecting something far worse. Then he stepped closer, his usual confidence replaced by unease. The guards outside the door didn’t move, their expressions blank, indifferent to what was unfolding. Marcus crossed his arms, his fingers drumming nervously against his sleeves. “Eva…” He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing. “I don’t have much time. They’re watching everything.”
Eva stared at him, her heart pounding. She hadn’t expected to see him here. Not now. Not after everything. “Hi”, she said in what could be described as polite shyness, a miracle no one would have believed a couple hour ago, Eva was not shy at all, nor was she polite. What miracles could the Conglomerate work in so little time. The Flame would be jealous, he thought.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. “I’m here because I still had an angle to pull. I know you may not see it this way, but this was the best thing anyone could arrange for you, the prospect of an agreement.” His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it—anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “Look, they’re serious. The Conglomerate, they don’t play games when it comes to these things. You’re under their thumb now. I’m not boasting here, but if it weren't for my call, you would be dead right now. And it’s not going to end well for you unless…”
Eva’s stomach churned. She could see where this was going. “Unless what?”. Marcus shifted on his feet. “Unless you take the offer. Do the stream. Play along with their little narrative. You’ll be fine if you do. You’ll get a reduced sentence, maybe even a chance to reclaim some of what you lost. But…” His voice trailed off, his expression hardening. “You can’t win if you fight them. Nobody can.”
“Reduced sentence?” Eva’s voice cracked, disbelief tinged with bitterness. “You think I’ll be fine after that? They’ll use me, Marcus. Use me to sell their lies and then just throw me out like garbage. Don’t try to sugar coat, you know it, I know it, everybody knows it. There’s only one thing left to consider. My fucking beating heart. Thing is, it’s probably the one piece of untouched meat in this body, and it’s having a hard time to come to peace with that.”
“Shut the fuck up”, she heard Sofia’s voice, “you have never-ever considered morality for more than a second, this is not the time for either-or”.
He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “What choice do you have? Look around you. You’re in a prison cell. They’ve already made up their minds. This isn’t about guilt or innocence anymore. It’s about control. You can either go along with it, or you can disappear. You think the world will remember you if you vanish?”
Eva’s chest tightened. She wanted to scream at him, to rail against the unfairness of it all. But Marcus was right. The Conglomerate didn’t care about justice or truth. It cared about maintaining its grip on the masses, keeping the system intact. And she was just another cog in the machine—disposable, replaceable.
“Do you really think they’ll let me walk away after I help them? Will they keep their side of this wonderful bargain?” she asked quietly, her voice hollow.
Marcus hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. “I don’t know. Maybe. They’ve done it before—kept people around who were useful. You’ll still have a chance. That’s more than most people get”. Eva closed her eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a crushing force. Alive. A chance. But what kind of life would that be? What kind of chance?
Was she just clinging to the last scraps of her identity, unwilling to let go of the illusion of power she had once wielded? The rebels had made her a symbol, and now the Conglomerate wanted to twist that symbol to serve their ends.
“Think about it, Eva,” Marcus said, his tone softening. “Just think about it. You’ve always been smart. You know how to survive. This… this is just another way to survive.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. The man who had been by her side through it all—who she allowed to help her build the empire of Eva Volkov—was standing before her now, offering her a way out, as a messiah. Or maybe a prophet? Probably I was becoming the messiah right now in some dark alleys of those stupid fucks.
But this was a poisoned apple, and they both knew it. Don't’ you agree, Sofia? She asked herself. “I’ll think about it,” she whispered, though the words felt like a lie. Marcus nodded, relief flashing briefly across his face. “Good. That’s all you can do for now.” He glanced at the door again, then turned back to her. “They’ll be expecting your decision soon. Don’t take too long.”
And with that, he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. Eva was alone again, the cold silence of the cell pressing in on her from all sides. Her mind raced, torn between the temptation of survival and the cost of compliance. She had built a life on bending, on adjusting to the system, on playing the part. But now, that life was gone, shattered by a single glitch, and she was left to pick up the pieces.
A part of me is already dead, she thought, bitterness creeping in. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to kill the rest. But as the thought settled in, so did the weight of what it would mean to truly let go—to let them reshape her, to become the mouthpiece for their lies.
The question lingered, unanswered, as the cold crept deeper into her bones. There was no other way and she knew it. She heard a hiss in her own head, “time to become a snake or to be poisoned”.